His arms were crossed before his chest in an almost petulant manner as he studied the crowds, wondered if a certain redhead was out walking among them - something he doubted. Despite the industrious, hardworking image Kurama had cultivated for his human form, Hiei knew that the youko enjoyed his worldly comforts - and that included sleeping in whenever possible. The ghost of what might have been a smile on anyone else tugged on his lips as he remembered the youko’s half-defensive argument against his own comment, “You’re getting soft.”

Kurama had given him a wide, green-eyed gaze, the same kind he often used to worm his way out of troublesome situations; the same look that had snuck past his carefully-erected guards and into his heart. For a moment, he hadn’t said anything, then flashed a dazzling, mischievous smile and fell back onto the bed, arms outspread. “As the Americans say, I plead the Fifth.”

He had been confused by that remark, prompting an explanation from his lover. Apparently, Americans had a code of rules that were somewhat different from those of the Japanese; one of the rules was that they didn’t have to say anything about anything if they didn’t want to, hence the peculiar phrase - it was the fifth rule. He snorted; humans could complicate their short lives so easily that it astounded him, enforcing his belief that humans were nothing of any interest; he couldn’t understand the fascination Kurama held for them. They lived for a bare hundred years, fading fast, and so fragile that Hiei would be afraid to handle one roughly; they might break, like one those ridiculous porcelain figures that Shiori had given her son for his birthday.

He flickered from his post atop the telephone pole, reappearing on a building-top. If Kurama was getting soft, so was he. In the past, Hiei would never have allowed anyone - especially a youko, one of the race infamous for their infidelity to lovers - to become so close to his heart; not only that, but the things that crazy youko had driven him to do ... leaving a note to assure his lover he had not vanished forever, for example. Not even his sister could evoke such a possessive worry from him; what was so different between his lover and Yukina? She was sweet, kind, gentle, polite ...

... everything that Minamino Shuuichi was. But that was his human body, his human personality; and Kurama was a different entity than the quiet human boy whose body he possessed.

Or so Hiei liked to think, though he knew that it wasn’t true. His lover was both the perfect redheaded boy who so easily won the affection of his peers, and the heartlessly efficient youko who was both feared and respected in the Makai. Either way, they were both Kurama, and they were both the same infuriating, lovable creature who had pounced on him one night and confessed, in a glowing rush of words, an emotion that Hiei had never expected someone else to feel for him:

Love.

His first reaction had been of shock; then had come anger, as he shook the youko, trying to shake that stupid grin from his face as he demanded how the hell something like that could have happened. Kurama had only hiccuped cheerfully, his head lolling forward to rest on Hiei’s shoulder, a soft, alcohol-scented breath drifting across his cheek. Confused as hell, the small black Koorime had lugged the taller, heavier human onto his futon, watching over him as he slept.

In the morning, Kurama had been a grouchy, short-tempered wreck, growling some kind of greeting in Hiei’s general direction as he stumbled towards the bathroom, falling to his knees before the toilet and retching a few times. After almost fifteen minutes of kneeling before the toilet, he had dragged himself to his feet, leaning heavily over the sink and splashing icy water onto his face, glaring at the reflection in the mirror: his usually perfect hair was matted and stuck to his cheek, and dark rings bagged under his bloodshot green eyes. Then he had come back to the bedroom, where Hiei still sat, watching curiously and waiting for Kurama to speak.

The latter sank onto the bed instead of saying anything, burying his face in his hands. After an eternity, he had looked up, his voice a low growl as he demanded, “What are you still doing here?”

Confused, Hiei had only shrugged, watching as the expression of his friend’s face darkened, the green eyes dropping to study his delicate, elegant-fingered hands. “Did ... did I say anything ... really embarrassing last night?” The pale skin of his face was flushed dark red in color, only a few shades lighter than his fiery hair; his voice dropped to a whisper as he continued. “I ... I don’t really remember much after getting into the sake bottles ... did I tell Shiori anything?” His eyes widened. “What did I tell you?”

Hiei’s only response had been to raise an eyebrow, as he shrugged delicately. “You said that you loved me,” he told him honestly, and blinked when Kurama’s face fell, the blush darkening furiously as the latter bowed his head, hiding his face and refusing to meet Hiei’s eyes. Kurama’s voice was low, harsh, dragged out from gritted teeth, barely recognizable when he spoke again.

“Then you know.”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“Like what?”

Kurama’s head had snapped up with that remark, green eyes wide in surprise, and - was that hurt pooling in the emerald orbs? Then the slender shoulders sagged, and he looked away - but not before the look in his eyes cut Hiei like a knife thrust. “Nothing. I was ... ah, it was a stupid dream, anyway. You can leave now. I don’t think we have anything else to say to each other.”

The dull tone of his voice, the way Kurama’s entire slender body sagged, as if in defeat - the utter hopelessness of his bearing - it all conspired, and Hiei felt a painful tightness start in his chest as he watched the human on the bed. Feeling like an idiot, he got to his feet, headed for the window, intending to honor Kurama’s wishes ... then paused at a small, choked sound from the bed, a sound that made him whirl and his eyes widen.

He had never seen Kurama cry before, and the knowledge that the youko’s grief was all his fault made him feel just as miserable; he really was a bastard, he thought, watching as the shudders tore through the other’s delicate form. Anyone who made someone like Kurama actually cry was a bastard who deserved to be killed, slowly and painfully.

His feet carried him out of his own accord, towards the bed. Body moving on its own, he watched, bemused, as one of his small hands lifted, descending on Kurama’s shoulder, something twisting inside him when the human’s entire body flinched from his touch. He met the other’s eyes, noting with a pang the way the red streaks of tears stood out, painfully obvious against pale skin, the way the green eyes, wide with some inscrutable emotion, stared blankly at him.

“Hiei?” It was an incredulous whisper, in a voice of pain. “Why are you still here?”

Steeling himself for a fall, a rebuke, anything, Hiei leaned forward the kissed the sweat-dampened brow. He drew back, evenly meeting the startled hope he saw in those eyes, the same eyes which haunted him for so very long now. A ghost of a gentle smile touched his lips as he studied the tear-streaked face beneath him. “Hn. Crying doesn’t suit you, you know,” he told him gently, touching one finger to Kurama’s lips. He really was an idiot, he thought, watching the complex emotions dance across the other face. What the hell was he doing? Kurama had asked him to leave, to escape before he did anything stupid - but it was too late now. He couldn’t back out of what he had already done.

He stepped back, waiting for the youko’s reaction.

Hesitantly, Kurama reached out, wrapping his arms around the other’s small, slender body, drawing him close. Hiei accepted the embrace, closing his eyes and even leaning into it slightly - like a cat. He felt Kurama’s hands, moth-light and trembling furiously, caress his arms; could hear the overly fast beat of a human heart under his cheek. The voice that spoke was gentle, though the pain was still there, making him frown. “Hiei? Does this mean ...”

“Hn. Stupid fox.” He drew back and smiled wickedly at Kurama, exposing his fangs. He reached out, tugging on a strand of long red hair, bringing Kurama’s ear close to his mouth. “Would I do this for just anybody?” he asked, feeling the other’s body shiver as his breath rushed past his ear. The arms around him tightened a little, and he managed to free his arms, tentatively sliding them around Kurama’s neck. He could feel hot tears soaking his shirt, but felt no need to stop them.

So he hadn’t actually said the words, Hiei reflected. But what he had done was good enough for Kurama; unspoken, but still heard, and cherished. It would only be a matter of time, he knew, before his courage worked itself enough for him to say it for his lover. Maybe he should ask Kurama exactly what he had been drinking, the night of that big confession ...

Hiei rolled his eyes at the thought, then flickered from view again, this time heading back for the apartment where his lover lived; he was going home.

Kurama was lying in an ungraceful sprawl of limbs and sheets when Hiei slipped in through the open window. Though he never made a sound, the redhead awkwardly twisted his upper body and glancing upwards, flashing a brief smile before dropping back into his former position, green eyes tracing invisible patterns in the white ceiling. The throat of his forest-colored robe lay open, exposing the vulnerable flesh underneath, pale skin bright against the darkness of the fabric. With every soft breath Kurama took, there was a flash of silver at his throat; the small dragon charm that hung from a fine chain catching the sunlight and glittering like a miniature star.

Hiei spared the clock a brief glance before returning to his quiet study of his lover; in this jumbled position, he resembled a large cat, graceful and sleek and lazy, enjoying itself in the sun. Tendrils of his red hair fanned out on the whiteness of the sheets, like streaks of blood and fire, almost blinding in their intensity. The heavy, half-lidded green eyes reminded him of the few times he had actually seen a cat up close, and, coupled with his sensual smile, created an affect that truly was feline.

“What time is it?” came the mumbled question, Kurama’s lips barely moving as he spoke, turning his subtly intense gaze towards him, once more rendering him speechless for a few microseconds. It never ceased to amaze him how carelessly beautiful Kurama was; how unconsciously graceful and gentle. He sometimes wondered if Kurama knew the depths of the effect he had on people, and decided not - reincarnation as a human had left Kurama much more susceptible to human emotions, but he didn’t seem to understand the infatuations that the girls of his school had held for him - high school flames that still burned brightly in their easily swayed hearts.

He gave the clock another sharp glance, then shrugged. “Almost eleven,” he said casually, eyes stubbornly fixed on the long halo of red hair as he spoke. Kurama made an annoyed sound, rolling over onto his stomach before scrambling to a seated position. Running a hand haphazardly through his hair, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and padded for the closet, studying the surprisingly messy rows of clothing, brow furrowed in thought.

Selecting a white shirt from the mess and a pair of faded jeans, Kurama draped the items over his arm and vanished into the bathroom, his voice drifting outwards in explanation. “I promised ’Kaasan that I would have lunch with her today ... Shuuichi-kun is away visiting friends for the day, and ’Tousan is on a business trip.” There was the sound of water running, and Kurama emerged, the curling strands of hair around his face damp, even as he pressed a soft towel against his face. “I hope you don’t mind ... ?” he trailed off uncertainly, eyeing Hiei.

He shrugged, pretending indifference. “Why should I care how you spend your days? I don’t own you, you know ...”

Kurama grinned impishly, even as he finished drying his face and tossed the towel carelessly onto the bed. “Why, Hiei, I could have sworn I heard jealousy in your voice ... I must be hearing things.” The last was added with a mischievous wink, as Kurama began to run the brush through his long red hair, gently coaxing the few snarls out into smooth beauty.

When he turned back to the place where Hiei had been standing, the latter was gone, vanished without any trace of his presence, aside from the faint aftershocks his chi had left behind. The smile that curled his lips broadened as he set down his comb and left the apartment, whistling some nonsense tune cheerfully. He stepped into the sunlight, blinking, temporarily blinded by the light, then continued on his way, his step light and cheerful, the movements of a young man in love.

And in the back of his mind, a darkly familiar, comforting presence hovered, skirting the fringes of his awareness, close enough to be of use, should a fight arise, but far enough away to uphold the pretense of indifference. Ducking his head briefly, he chuckled, interrupting his tune, never faltering in his pace. It was enough to know Hiei followed; enough to know that the Koorime was nearby, not within reach, but still close.

Enough for now, he amended the thought, a mischievous spark working its way through his mind before he regretfully clamped down on it. Shiori was waiting, and she, unlike Kurama, didn’t have all the time in the world to take her leisure. He had to make the memories of her now, before she faded away and was gone forever. With that thought in mind, he quickened his pace, vanishing into the crowds.

She dragged her feet, barely lifting them from the ground, flitting from shadow to shadow as fast as her lethargic body could take her. The frightening intensity of the light and heat of the Makai sun burned her, hurt her, made her cringe like some wounded dog from its fiery touch. She was beginning to doubt the wisdom of what she was doing; blind-seers were something strange, an ethereal force in a world of demons - not something willingly or knowingly tangled with.

The small hut wavered into sight and her steps faltered again, a hard lump of fear rising in her throat. She didn’t, she couldn’t - but she had to. She was in sight of her goal, and only a few more steps would take her inside. Her hand shook violently as she forced it rise, to curl her fingers into a fist and rest gently against the rotting, gray-green wood of the door ...

“Enter.” It was a single word, scratched out from a throat that was dried from the years, in a voice rusty with disuse. She froze briefly, as if caught in the blinding heat of the sun, then allowed her hand to creep to the handle, pushing the door back and stepping into the moldy cool darkness of the small hut. The scent was dusty, filled with the tang of strange herbs and chemicals, causing her sensitive nose to wrinkle in distaste. Her eyes, accustomed to the dark, easily made out the large forms of a cot and a desk with no chair. And, seated in the exact center of the room, a small figure waited, large, pale gray-blue eyes stared at her, covered with the glassy white film of blindness. They were fixed on her with an unnerving accuracy and clearness, even through the milky color of her eyes. “Be seated, young one.”

Her legs curled from under her, her body sinking down into a cross-legged position across from the old - woman? man? thing? - and folded her hands in her lap. It stared at her, cracked lips moving in what could have once been a friendly smile - but now, it resembled a skeleton’s false grimace, more than anything else. Sickened, she kept silent, knowing that even still, the blind-seer would be able to read her heart and mind. “You know why I’m here ... ?” she murmured, keeping her eyes respectfully lowered.

The blind-seer nodded once, a quick, sharp motion that threatened to topple its head from its withered neck. “Hai. You are troubled child, and the answers you receive might not lead to the peace of mind and heart you so desire ...” Withered claws moved with surprising speed for such age, flashing in a gray blur in her vision. When the movement stilled, five cards lay between them, two of them turned face-up, upside-down to her view. The three others lay with their uniformly decorated backs turned skywards, which caused the blind-seer’s eyes to narrow. Slowly, it lifted the middle upside-down one, lifting it to the light.

She saw, in the brief instant that it was illuminated, the graceful image of the Fox card, the painted creature’s brown eyes glittering with an internal life, even inside the boundaries of its illustrated world. She shivered, reminded too clearly of another fox that had breezed in and of her life, unwilling to be restrained by the borders she had set for him. Next time, she promised, she would not be so confining. Should he wish to go free, she would not stop him. His happiness was hers, and it lay in his freedom as well as his love.

The seer’s voice interrupted her promises to herself. “I foresee grief for you, little one, if you continue this path that you have started. Pain and rejection await; ’twould be better if you left this insanity now, while your heart still has a chance of healing and your mind coming through whole.” The card was lowered, and the seer sighed. “But I know your heart, little one; I know you will not heed my words. And so, as is my duty, I will grant you your single request.” Hands flashed, and the other two cards were revealed. She saw a beautiful young - that was a man! her mind murmured in surprise - human, with long, flowing red hair and green eyes that were too bright, too intense and deep for him to be a mere ningen. She frowned, then looked at the other card, heart stopping in her chest at the sight.

It was him. It was him. Her lover, the one who had disappeared into the night without a trace. Quickly, she turned away, closing her eyes, not wanting to cry, to allow this blind-seer the burden of her tremendous grief. But the seer was talking again, and she had to force herself to pay attention, turning her large, black-furred ears in her direction, the pointed digits cupped forward attentively.

“He ... he is no longer entirely the same youko you seek. Part of his soul has been changed beyond recognition; you would not know him, were you to see him merely walking down a path. Almost a full twenty years ago, this one you sought was wounded, and badly, by the Spirit Hunter Orako. In an attempt to survive, he released his soul from his body, and fled to the Ningenkai - world of the humans. There, he found solace in the womb of a girl, and from there was reborn as her child, her only, valued son.” Eyes rose, unseeing, but still piercing. “His name is no longer entirely the one his birth-father gave to him. He is now known by a different name, a different face.”

She leaned forward, her entire body tense with eager awareness. “Yes ... ?” she prompted, hands twisting in the other’s grip, cutting into her skin with long nails.

“... he is now known as Minamino Shuuichi. His soul is half-human now; he has a human mother and a set of friends different from those he knew in the Makai. He has taken another lover than you; and this one is of the same sex as he. Do you still wish to seek him?”

Her mind was reeling from the knowledge. So close, so close ... he had been hurt, almost killed! her mind wailed in agony ... another lover? He had betrayed her that much? She choked on her own tears, rising to her feet and backing away from the seer’s passive little form, bowing low. “A-arigato,” she murmured, before turning and bolting directly into the burning light. Her eyes stung, tearing, and she ignored the painful light, fleeing into the coolness of shadow.

She knew that it would happen; he was too beautiful, too magnetic, not to attract others to his life and bed. And, eventually, one would have seduced their way into his heart ... but a man? Another man? She ... she just found that hard - no, utterly impossible! - to believe. But blind-seers never lied; with the loss of their visual eyes, the vision of their hearts, minds, and souls rose to a completely new level, far beyond that of even the strongest S-Class. They could not lie; their natures would not allow them to do so.

Finally, finally, she reached the solace of her own home, and collapsed in that bed, that bed that they had shared, curling her body into the sheets and sobbing into the pillows. Same sheets, same pillow, same bed, same home ... but not the same girl. And he would not be the same when he returned. Was she still willing to search for him, to fight this new lover if necessary? Would she have to give him up, and possibly forever? Could she even?

Tears vanished at that thought. Loose him ... no, no! Her heart, her mind, her entire soul would not believe that. She couldn’t loose him; just like her trek to the seer’s hut, she was so close, so close to what she desired ... and if she didn’t loose heart along the way, she could win him back. The thought brought the first true smile to her face since his disappearance; the thought of being reunited with him lightened her world, the first rays since the darkness he had left behind.

I’ll find you again, she promised, clenching a fist. Minamino Shuuichi or Youko Kurama, I’ll find you, and we’ll be together again ... I promise!